


The Empty World

by Tish



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Nightmares, Type: Gothic Horror, Type: Psychological Horror, Type: Survival Horror, feelings of unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:46:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: How can one survive the horror of not knowing? Sophia embarks on that fraught journey as best she can.
Relationships: Sophia Cracroft/Captain Francis Crozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11
Collections: Multifandom Horror Exchange (2020)





	The Empty World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zipegs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zipegs/gifts).



Sophia's breath curled cold in the night as she stared up at the Moon. Oblivious to the chill of the air, she puzzled over the silver ring that circled the bright disc that stood high above her.

She could have worn such a ring if she'd said 'yes' to Francis, but she didn't. Sometimes in bed, she'd awaken and feel ice in her stomach, wondering if she'd made the wrong choice, wondering if it'd be worse to be a supposed widow. Then, she'd think of Aunt Jane, and feel the ice creep down her body, regretting such moments of foolish self-indulgence. Instead of quietly grieving Sir John's presumed loss, her aunt had been indomitable -- not willing to passively wait for long-delayed word of success, or of merciful rescue, or of sombre news of death -- keeping a torch lit in the darkness of the Navy's slow-moving bureaucracy and caution.

Sophia wondered if it was ice that circled the Moon, wondered if it could come crashing to the ground around her. She knew that however much it would hurt, it couldn't compare with the pain of not knowing Francis' fate.

She wondered if Francis ever looked upon that Moon, if he ever tried to reach up to hold the disc, breathe upon it and let it melt, to sail home on the ice-cold water.

A soft creaking groan startled her and she span round, eyes straining to see who it was. A shimmer of light in an upstairs window caught her eye, and she shivered as the same creaking sound came again from a layer of frost up there. For a moment, Sophia was sure she saw a face in the frost, but the image was lost as a maid opened the door, filling the courtyard with a warm, golden light.

“Miss Cracroft, I'm so sorry to disturb you,” the young woman said, “but Lady Jane asked me to fetch you from the cold.”

Sophia felt numb now, but nodded slightly as the maid hugged her arms around herself and stepped back indoors, hoping to stave off the chill that crept inside the room. Sophia followed her inside and went to the fireplace as the maid shut the French door. Despite the care the maid took, a draft still wafted in as she closed it and drew the curtains.

The brief gust of air fanned the flames, and for a moment, Sophia saw a curl of Francis' hair. Alone now, the ticking of the clock seemed to slow interminably as Sophia stared into the fireplace, seeking answers to questions she barely dared to ask.

Gazing into the oracle yielded no answers, so Sophia retired to her rooms, thinking of bed. As she passed a window, she stopped and drew the heavy curtain aside, looking down at her spot in the garden. Cold radiated from the glass, and part of it was frosted over, a frozen mosaic that would be gone in the morning like a dream that disappears upon awakening. Sophia reached out her hand to feel the pane, the smooth coldness was like reaching into a frozen ocean. She flinched at the sound of a sharp crack, drawing back hastily. Her hand feeling like ice, she ran to her bed-chamber.

***

Sleep drew her into dreams, and she felt like she was tumbling from a spinning, silver ring into a world of white. Picking herself up from her fall, she couldn't tell land from sky, only that her bare feet stood upon the white part that was solid. She looked up and barely discerned a milky-yellow circle low in the sky, surrounded by a silvery-white disc some distance around it. Foreboding clawed at her heart as she heard a bell ring somewhere far away.

There was now a crunching, cracking sound, coming from below now, and it was louder than before. Sophia dared herself to look down through the sparkling ice that was now underfoot. Shadows and dark shapes appeared underneath, floating up and then diving or sinking below into darkness.

Sophia remembered wondrous childhood tales of the Frost Fairs and the accompanying whispered stories of a sudden thinning of ice that claimed those unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She slowly put a foot forward, testing her weight, drawing back as a circular hole slowly split the ice before her, revealing small, flat circles of ice to float up like lily pads. She ran, sliding and skating away, desperate for dry land. Instead, she tumbled onto another ice patch and lay there, panting for breath, arms bracing herself against the ice that made small snapping sounds that echoed around her. Something slid underneath her, coming to rest under a thin section of ice near her face. Distorted by glittery bubbles of frost, the figure rolled to reveal itself to be Francis, hair silver with ice. He reached up a hand and Sophia slid hers over his, feeling the warmth slide down her body into his, melting the ice a little.

“No,” he mouthed silently. “Let me go.”

“We have to find you. I have to find you,” Sophia cried out.

The ice between them shimmered and thickened, pushing Francis deeper below, and Sophia blindly slammed her fists onto the ice, not heeding the pain driving up her hands and into her body. She slumped down, face grinding against the hardening ice, feeling her skin tear and ribs hurt from the ice shards jutting into her body.

All she wanted wanted to huddle by a fire, Francis by her side, soothing her in a warm embrace. The sound of crackling, more rapid now, roused her and she thought she could smell someone cooking.

“I'll awaken to breakfast,” Sophia said to herself, as she held her aching side. “If I can wake up.”

***

She opened her eyes to grey shale under her, and a milky-white fog shrouding the sky from horizon to horizon.

Sophia struggled up wearily, “Francis, where are you? What is this place?”

A pain shot through her side and she gasped, nearly doubling over. A wind started to pick up, carrying fearsome moans and howls from all directions, sparking images of strange beasts that inhabited this nightmare landscape.

“It is but a nightmare,” Sophia tried to reassure herself as she found herself trudging over the featureless ground. “I shall find you, Francis. If this is some way of telling me where you are, I shall press on. I will walk five hundreds miles for you. I shall walk five hundred more.”

The fog solidified beside her just a little, and she could barely make out the form of Francis walking with her. He faded in and out like a shadow and his voice came from somewhere far away, crackling like a fire. “Go back, don't put yourself through this. Please!”

“I cannot, Francis. This is the path of my nightmare,” Sophia answered with a heavy heart. Shaking her head, she whispered, “I'm awake, surely I am?”

Francis' ethereal form turned from grey to a muted pale gold as the sun moved over her shoulder and he tried to reach out for her hand. “This is my living nightmare, don't let it become yours. Go back.”

He continued to speak, but a roaring like the ocean filled Sophia's ears, drowning him out, as he flickered and faded from sight.

Alone now, Sophia felt her heart break anew, and she staggered in a circle, searching with frantic eyes, but Francis was nowhere to be seen. She looked around, trying to remember which way she'd been going, swallowing her panic as she recalled the sun over her shoulder. She staggered onwards, hoping that Francis would come to her again, and tell her where he was, and where her uncle was.

The sun-like disc barely crawled across the horizon as Sophia walked, her mind pushing her through fatigue and the pain of every step. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, and she found herself stopping to let the nausea pass.

Her feet felt weighed down at every step, and she struggled to remember she was dreaming, so vivid was every sensation. Resisting the temptation to lift her nightdress to see just how flayed and bruised her bare feet were, Sophia huddled her arms across her chest, shivering against the wind whistling through the fabric of her night clothes.

Finally, as the sun-like disc sank below the horizon, Sophia collapsed, letting herself drop into unconsciousness.

“Now I shall awaken,” she murmured to herself.

***

There was fresh bread and plates of hot food. Steam curling from tea cups. A roaring fire. The yearning for news, for some practical efforts at the rescue effort. Lady Jane's shining example of fortitude and courage.

Sophia watched her dream from behind her eyes. How strange and quaint England seemed after what she'd endured. The pain in her side still lingered, as though she'd slept on rocks, not the luxury of a warm bed. Her hands felt red and raw, and she could still hear the wind whistle in her ears. Each step up or down stairs felt like her skin was being stripped from her feet.

“It was but a nightmare,” Sophia whispered to herself as the frost loudly cracked upon the window pane far below her rooms, and the ice shimmered a ring around the Moon high above her.

When she woke from her nightmare, she would resume her walk through this bleak and empty world.


End file.
